Exhaustion and elation as we reach Island Peak's summit

Mission: Everest: Exhaustion and elation at Island Peak's summit

The True Patriot Love expedition is setting out to raise awareness for Canadian soldiers injured at war — and inspire anyone suffering from similar mental and physical scars as they trek to Everest. Read more blogs from the series here.

Our trek up the valley from Dingboche to Island Peak was longer and tougher than I expected. The sparse vegetation of the lower valley soon gave way to a rocky moraine that was void of life save for the occasional patch of moss. We wound our way for hours through shale and sediment. The earth we climbed over likely covered glacier, which forms a natural barrier for Imja Tsho, one of several Nepalee glacial lakes that threaten to flood the lower valleys due to global warming.

Base camp turns out to be literally at the foot of Island Peak, which towers so high over us that it’s impossible to see above a few hundred meters of its rocky flank. Our yellow dome tents dot the terrain around a larger dinner-and-kitchen tent that the Sherpas have set up. We’ll use the big tent to eat, work and plan the ascent. It’s colder now, and the cold is exacerbated by the wind that blows relentlessly through our makeshift village. Even though we’re dressed in Canada Goose down jackets, we race from dinner to our tents and into our sleeping bags, which offer the only refuge from the cold.

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We’ll stage our climb in two parts: A climb to a higher attack camp, then rest. Then starting in the dark early morning, a summit attempt that should see us on the peak mid-morning, leaving enough time for us to descend down to base camp the same day.

The climb to the high camp is similar to the one we did days ago up Kala Patthar. A steep hike soon turns into a scramble over steeper rock. We time our departure so that we arrive in high camp just before sunset. Our dramatic room with a view is perched on a high cliff with only a few feet to safely navigate between tents. In their usual good moods, the Sherpas cook us dinner, which we eat quickly before heading to out tents in the early evening. At this altitude we are three to a tent, because we need the heat of the extra body to stay warm.

Sleep above 5,500 metres is restless and intermittent. The altitude, cold and wind makes for a rough night, one brought to a quick end by the 3:30 a.m. wake-up call. The Sherpas are again merrily cooking breakfast as we sort out our climbing gear. We set off in a long train of head lamps. Every several steps I look up to see faint lights high above me. The lights attest to how far and high I need to go.

We finally arrive at a rocky ledge adorned with prayer flags, which marks the end of our rock climb and the beginning of glacier. We navigate a narrow precipice alongside a sheer thousand-foot drop to get to a “crampon point.” Our Sherpas don their ropes and high-tech climbing gear like pro athletes. Between our guides and Sherpas we have more than 80 8,000 metre summits between us. We’re in good hands.

The glacier is steep and marked with crevasses. Roped together and clipped into safety lines, we navigate it carefully. I can sense the tension and excitement in the team. Many are exhausted — but we can now see the summit. The end is in sight.

The last remaining challenge is a 300-metre head wall. Basically a wall of ice that appears vertical once you’re on it. The only way up is with crampons, fixed ropes and something called an ascender — a handy piece of kit that is essentially a handle that goes up the line, not down.

I had not expected this section to be so challenging. It was likely the altitude but every kick step into the ice required at least three breaths. And despite the sun on our backs the wind chill made it feel at least 20 degrees Celsius below zero. After what was almost 90 minutes, I reached the summit ridge, a knife’s edge, maybe two feet wide as it threads its way up to the postage-sized summit.

This was one of the most difficult physical and emotional challenges that many of us had been through — save for the soldiers’ combat experience

It was so narrow that I had to wait for the other parties to clear it before I could advance. My Sherpa Lama, an Everest veteran, banged my hands with his since I had complained that my fingers were burning cold as I waited. Magically the warmth returned just as the other party made room for me to move forward. Clipped on to a ridge rope I steadily made my way up to the top — a hunk of ice that looked to me like the conning tower on a submarine. From it’s narrow confines we were surrounded by the towering faces of other mountains, including Lohtse, which forms Everest’s back-side climbing approach. And I could see the tiny village of Dingboche, which we had left only a few days earlier.

I’m not sure what I expected to feel as one by one our team gathered on to the summit and clipped into a small safety line. Exhaustion, elation. Probably a combination of the two. We savored the moment, taking the customary photographs. And not necessarily looking forward to the descent, which would be equally challenging, although much faster.

This was one of the most difficult physical and emotional challenges that many of us had been through — save for the soldiers’ combat experience. Our soldiers had been wounded — but this summit attempt showed the veterans that their wounds were setbacks in what would be a lifetime of meeting and achieving new challenges. Our expedition had reached its summit, but the impact on every one of us would take months to sink in.